


Dangerous Ideations

by Kappakay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Death, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kappakay/pseuds/Kappakay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt (AGAIN): A recently widowed Dean goes looking for a way to see Castiel again, even if it's just for a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Ideations

He didn’t expect it. The pain. The loss that he felt. The blackhole that consumed his life. None of it. One could say he was used to death; that Dean and him were reluctant friends, always running into each other, but never staying together long enough for a cup of coffee.

Now he couldn’t admit such lies, for Death had taken away the one thing he cared about more than anything. His rock, his angel, his sanity: Castiel. 

Time heals all wounds. Nothing but lies. Time doesn’t heal anything, just gnaws on the hole that Cas left, making it bigger until Dean could feel himself collapsing in like a supernova. So he drank, something he hadn’t done for years. He drank himself into a stupor, taking out his rage on the nearest breakable object he could find, not caring whose it was, or even where he was. Anything was better than inside that house they shared for so many years. 

What few friends he had all gave up on him, leaving him alone to his own devices. They could understand where he was coming from, but only to a certain extent. None of them knew the complicated back story that was the Dean Castiel relationship. No one would believe it anyways. Supernatural beings were oddities in this day and age, hunters all but extinct. Few creatures lived in the shadows still, but remained hidden to avoid the curious eyes of unsuspecting civilians. Dean knew they were still out there, and he didn’t care. They kept their heads down, behaved properly, so he had no reason to chop their heads off. 

Now he wanted to find one, not for the pleasure of hunting, but for a different pleasure.

One hand preoccupied with a vial of whiskey, the other grasping an old machete, Dean waltzed the twilight lit back streets, singing “Cheek to Cheek” terribly off tune. A homeless man glared at him. Dean just saluted him with his whisky vial and kept stumbling down. He knew where he wanted to go; their activity may have been under the radar, and hunters rare, but monsters are monsters. Their movements will forever be monitored as long as man drew breath.

The knowledge of where djinn lurk in the dark proved to be very useful for Dean.

He tossed the idea around for weeks. Really, it all came down to a simple question of what there was left for him. Sam was gone, as was Bobby, Benny, Jo, Ellen, Dad, Mom… anyone he ever cared for ended up six feet under far too early. An emptiness existed inside him that no amount of alcohol could fill. Only Cas could. 

Reaching the building he wanted, Dean threw open the door, his whiskey sloshing all over him. He didn’t care. He was so close to freedom. “Daddy’s home!” He proclaimed loudly, knocking back the last bit of his drink before throwing it to ground.

Etheral blue lights blinked in the darkness, sizing him up. The long forgotten instinct inside him told him to run, to fight, to kick ass and take them all down, but he quelled it. Instead, he threw his arms out wide, feeling the sting of salt in the corner of his eyes. 

“Come and get it you son of a bitch.”

Blue encompassed him, cold fingers probing his mind, erasing everything. Images flashed before him, grey and tepip, memories of the past little while he would never touch with a ten foot pole. They were being erased before him, reality turning to nightmares. He felt himself falling far and fast into a hole. He expected it to be made of darkness, but what greeted him was beige and blue mist curling around him in a warming embrace. A single tear slipped free as he closed his eyes, falling farther and faster, never daring to fight as the mist tightened its grip and pulled him down into the depths. 

He fell for so long, for what felt like ages. When he stopped, he dared not open his eyes. His heart beat loud in his chest, his breath ragged, his palms sweaty. What if it didn’t work? What if the djinn was playing with him? He could feel sunlight warming his face, birds singing outside, but he kept his eyes shut as he waited. 

After weeks of waiting for that angel to show up at their house again through some magical device, it was hard for Dean to see if his plan worked. It had been so long, so long since he had seen those blues, felt those smooth fingers, and heard that gruff voice, that the concept of failure had eluded him. All he saw was success. Up till now. 

Now, he felt trepidation snare his heart with its poison. No matter how much he wanted it to work, if it didn’t, he would be forever trapped in whatever mind state the djinn chose for him. 

_Get real Winchester. Anything is better than reality._

Dean opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the harshness of the warm sun. He peered around his room, panic rising as he took in the emptiness of his room, the guns gleaming from being freshly polished. He flung the covers off, legs falling to the side of the bed when he heard feet scuffle in the doorway and the smell of fresh coffee drifting to him.

“Hello Dean.”


End file.
